


Bartony

by Calacious



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Coffee, Cuddles, Feels, Fluff and Crack, Gen, Jealousy, Manufactured Snuggles, Natasha Feels, Past Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Protective Natasha, Teddy Bears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-22
Updated: 2014-01-22
Packaged: 2018-01-09 14:23:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1147027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calacious/pseuds/Calacious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a lone teddy bear sitting on the couch in the main living room of Stark Towers, and Natasha is suspicious. She will do whatever it takes to keep those in the tower safe, including sacrificing herself for the greater good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bartony

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of this work of fiction, they belong to their creators. No profit, monetary or otherwise, is being made through the writing of this. 
> 
> A/N: Inspired by the following line from “Parks and Recreation”:   
> “It’s a robot bear, it’s programmed to snuggle,” Tom Haverford, trying to convince Ann Perkins that the ‘teddy bear’ he gave her for a belated/early Valentine’s Day gift does not have a nanny cam installed in it.   
> “The Possum,” originally aired March 11th, 2010 (season 2, episode 18), watched, January 20, 2014.
> 
> Also inspired by a conversation with a friend, and reading Avengers fanfic on A03
> 
> Would love some feedback on this. It's not meant to be taken seriously, and I'm not interested in being grammatically perfect, but would like to know if people enjoyed reading this, and if they'd like to read more.

“Tony, what the hell is that?” Natasha eyed the small, plush bear which sat all alone on the couch.

To the untrained eye, it looked like an ordinary teddy bear, but Natasha’s eye was not untrained, and, even though it looked cute and cuddly, it made her uneasy. She kept a wide berth of the seemingly innocuous teddy, walking around the far side of the couch, keeping the bear in her eyesight at all times.

Tony frowned, and blinked at her. His hair was disheveled, not like he’d slept and woke up with bed head, but rather like he hadn’t slept at all, and had run his hands through his hair in frustration. It was a typical look on him, and Natasha didn’t bat an eye at that. What was more telling however, were the dark circles under his eyes, telling her that it had been days since he’d last slept.

The black tee-shirt he wore was haphazardly tucked partially into jeans that looked like they would need to be peeled off of him. She could almost, if she wanted to, smell him from her position on the other side of the couch.

Tony hadn’t had his coffee yet, and, though Natasha doubted that it would help all that much, given his state of sleep deprivation, she knew that, until, and maybe even after, he got some caffeine into his system, an answer would not be forthcoming. Tony stifled a yawn with the back of his hand, and stumbled toward the percolating coffeemaker, as though staring at the contraption would make the coffee come quicker.

It appeared as though he hadn’t even heard Natasha’s question, and though that irked her, she said nothing, knowing that if her question _had_ fallen on deaf ears, like she suspected, her outrage at Tony’s inattention, would likewise be ignored. She sighed, knowing that Tony wasn’t purposefully trying to piss her off.

Natasha kept the bear in sight and her hand on the hilt of a knife hidden in the waistband of her shorts. Did the bear just blink at her? Or, was that a wink? Wait a minute, bears, teddy, or otherwise, did not wink or blink.

Natasha narrowed her eyes at the furry little menace, and grasped the hilt of her knife, revealing a little of the blade to the bear. With Tony as out of it as he seemed to be – elbows resting on the counter, chin planted firmly on top of the rim of his empty coffee mug as he watched the black liquid drip into the clear carafe – she was their only line of defense against the bear, which she suspected might have been sent by someone to spy on them, or maybe to incapacitate them with nerve gas, or a bomb that would blow up Stark Tower.

Maybe it was a smart robot, or one of those nanny cam bears that parents set up to catch a babysitter in the act of robbing them, or hurting their children. She snorted at the absurdity of companies making such bears, and the lack of trust that people had in each other.

It was a jaded world they lived in, but it was a world that she and those like her – Tony, Clint, Phil, Steve, Bruce – lived, and died (well, those who were capable of dying), to protect. Natasha wouldn’t have it any other way.

Natasha kept a wary eye on the robot-assassin bear, and another eye on Tony who was moving like an old man with arthritis, lifting the carafe, now filled with coffee, with a hand that shook. She almost covered the short distance between them, wanting to help Tony whose hand was now shaking so hard that some of the coffee sloshed out onto the counter, but she knew that, even as out of it as he was, he’d shrug off her help, and then he’d probably stalk out of the common floor, and go back to his own quarters where no one would see him for another stretch of several days. Men were so stubborn.

Had the bear inched toward the edge of the couch? Had it always been positioned like that, with its stubby stuffed arms outstretched, as though awaiting a hug, black beady-eyed head tilted to the side as though seeking permission? Permission for what? Natasha wondered.

As Tony took a step from the kitchen, toward the living room, eyes trained on the coffee cup he held in both hands, Natasha took a step toward the bear, keeping herself between the unarmed Tony, and the, quite possibly deadly, bear. She edged her knife out of its sheaf, prepared to pin the bear with it, should it make a move toward Tony, though, if it was filled with a noxious gas, hitting it with a knife might not be the best thing to do.

As Tony slowly shuffled forward, closer to the unknown danger, Natasha’s heart hammered in her chest, and she calculated the multitude of possibilities at her disposal, trying to figure out which option would lead to the most minimal damage.

“Why are you glaring daggers at my snuggle bear?” Tony asked around a jaw-breaking yawn.

Tony had both of his hands wrapped around the mug now, and stood in the middle of the living room, swaying on the spot. He was looking at Natasha as though he thought she should be in a straight jacket, and quietly, carefully making his way toward the bear, as though not trying to spook her. Natasha would have laughed, if she was inclined toward foolish, inane laughter.

Natasha blinked at him, looking from the bear to Tony, who was now sipping at his coffee – eyes closed, a small smile playing about his lips. He’d positioned himself neatly between the bear, which had most definitely moved – she wasn’t seeing things, wasn’t imagining that the bear was now leaning over the edge of the couch, reaching out to Tony – and her, as though she was the real danger.

“Tony, step away from the bear,” Natasha said, certain that Tony had been speaking in his sleep about some sort of toy he’d made when he was a kid, some childhood memory come to light in his dreams. A lighter memory than most he seemed to carry around in his subconscious. She kept her voice light, non-threatening.

Tony snorted, and took another sip of his coffee. When he opened his eyes, and met her gaze, he appeared to be awake, even alert, but Natasha wasn’t certain, and the bear looked poised to jump from the couch.

“Tasha,” Tony said, her name falling from his lips as though he was speaking to a younger child, and not a trained killer. “Relax. It’s just a…”

Natasha threw herself around Tony, stepping neatly behind him, and tackling the bear just as it lunged forward, tipping itself off the couch, toward Tony. Both of them tumbled to the floor in a rolling mass of fluffy fur and red hair.

When Natasha had rolled herself and the menacing bear away from the immediate vicinity of the vulnerable Tony, she stopped. Strangely out of breath, Natasha kept a hold of the bear, which had somehow managed to clasp its stumpy arms around her neck.

It wasn’t a death grip, and, other than the brief tussle that she’d had with the robotic killing machine disguised as a harmless kid’s toy, there was no cause for Natasha to be so out of breath. She felt as though she’d been tackled by the bear, rather than the other way around, and she frowned down at the soft, brown fur on the back of its head.

The killer bear’s wooly face was nestled against her neck, its downy fur tickling her skin. The cold, hard nose dug into her collarbone. It didn’t hurt, but it made her throat feel scratchy, and there was no way that she could stab the bear without nicking herself in the process with how it was clinging to her neck.

Natasha took as deep a breath as she dared, and let her knife hand fall to her side, biding her time. Surely the bear wouldn’t just hang on her neck forever. Though, maybe she could stand and run the bear out of the towers, keeping the others, if not herself, safe from whatever nefarious purpose the plush not-toy was supposed to serve.

She stared up at the ceiling, taking a deep breath, gaining her bearings, trying not to let the soft fur of the bear creep her out too much. She’d never played with toys. Never so much as owned a teddy bear, and now she was being held by one, and Tony was staring down at her, his eyes laughing at her, even though his face was carefully neutral.

“Tony…”

“Relax, it’s not some psycho-killer-robot-assassin sent her to wipe out the Avengers one cute cuddle at a time,” Tony said, his voice soft and soothing. He smiled at her then, and Natasha scowled at him. “Like I said, it’s a snuggle bear.”

“And why is this, snuggle bear, clinging to me?” Natasha asked after a moment when she realized that its short, thick arms weren’t tightening around her neck, squeezing the life out of her. Instead, they were rather – comfortable – which made her distinctly uncomfortable. She raised a single eye brow when Tony chuckled and stepped away without offering a hand to help her up.

Tony shrugged, and muttered something that Natasha couldn’t quite make out.

“Oh, there it is!” Clint’s face replaced Tony’s for a brief moment before he stepped out of view, there had been a deep frown marring his features. “Why does Natasha get to cuddle with the snuggle bear? I thought you said _I_ could have him.”

Tony sighed, and, though Natasha couldn’t see him, she could almost hear him rolling his eyes in exhaustion and exasperation.

“Snuggle bear was programmed to give hugs to those who need them the most,” Tony said after a pause, probably to take another sip of his coffee – all that Natasha could see was a partial view of the ceiling, and the top of the snuggle bear’s head, so she couldn’t be certain what was happening. The snuggle bear’s hug seemed to have some strange power over her, making movement seem undesirable, rather than impossible. She couldn’t really pinpoint the feeling, because it was foreign, something that she’d never experienced before.

“But, you promised,” Clint’s voice sounded far too childish and wheedling for Natasha’s liking, and it was almost enough to propel her to her feet. _Almost_ , but not quite, because snuggle bear had taken that moment – that slight tensing of her muscles as she’d prepared to move, and give up the damn teddy bear (a child’s toy) to Clint, almost as big a child as Tony – to snuggle closer, its little arms tightening just a little, not enough to choke, but enough to intimate that it wasn’t ready to let go, that it wanted to hug just a little longer.

And so, for the first time in ever, Natasha – lying on her back, defenses down, staring up at the ceiling – hugged a stuffed animal to her chest, the knife slipping from her hand as she brought her arm up and around it.

Natasha hugged the bear to herself, and ignored Clint’s childish whine at the loss of the snuggle bear that Tony had promised him. She sat up with the bear, letting her back rest against the foot of the couch, and she buried her face into its velvety fur – it smelled of lavender and vanilla and maybe a touch of cinnamon.

She ignored Tony’s murmured condolences over Clint’s loss, and his assurance that, since this particular snuggle bear appeared to have chosen Natasha as its snuggler, that he’d make Clint another snuggle bear of his own. She ignored Tony’s softly spoken reassurances to Clint, that, no, Bruce, or Steve, or Thor wouldn’t get a chance to ‘bond’ with it first, he’d bring it down to Clint as soon as he’d created and programmed it.

Natasha ran her fingers through the snuggle bear’s soft, silky fur, and rubbed her cheek up against it. She smiled, and then, catching a glint of sunlight glancing off the blade of her knife, she returned to herself, and, reluctantly, she pulled the bear from her neck. It seemed a little disappointed, though the stitched smile on its face didn’t waver as Natasha propped it up on the couch, and then plucked up her knife, returning it to its scabbard.

“So, what are you going to name him?” Clint asked, and, though Natasha wasn’t looking at him, she could hear the pout in his voice.

Natasha shrugged. “I think I’ll call him…Bartony, after the two most childish men that I know in this universe.”

“Bartony? That’s an awful name, Tash, you can’t call him that,” Clint groaned.

“Hey, it’s her bear, she can call it anything she likes,” Tony said, sitting down beside her. He stifled another yawn behind a fist, and blinked tiredly.

Natasha turned and smiled at the billionaire genius. “Thank you, Tony,” she said, planting a chaste kiss on his cheek.

Tony blushed and looked down at his coffee cup, as though he could read something within the dark depths of the liquid. He murmured a quiet, “It was nothing,” and took a gulp of his coffee.

Gathering Bartony off the couch, Natasha clutched the not-assassin to her chest, and sauntered out of the room, smirking at Clint. She had just the spot for the bear – the place on her bed where Clint, before he’d taken up with someone else, used to sleep on occasion. He looked good there, his stumpy little arms outstretched, ready to hug at a moment’s notice, smile stitched into place, head quirked a little to the side, inviting. 


End file.
